In the end, they had needed to call in every ally and favour they had banked, and still the group of them had to fight tooth, nail, claw and tail to make it across the chosen battlefield. The drow half-elf, formerly bhaalspawn, now something else by choice, doesn't hesitate when it comes to the final call.

The brain must be destroyed, there is no other option.

Everything that comes after happens in a haze, time streaks by and they fall from the sky on a netherbrain careening out of control. He thinks briefly about the sweet embrace of death again, remembers how peaceful it was, and then recalls that he's got more to do. More things to achieve. More time to fill. More dawns to do better.

He has Enver, too. He cannot contemplate a world in which the former human did not survive.

He's dripping as he climbs up onto the dock, following his people as they all stumble in from what feels like the wildest storm of an indeterminant time. The city still stands, though parts are looking worse for wear than others. And perhaps they do too, the party that return bloodied and weary but not broken. Not defeated. There will be a time for that but, for now, he closes his eyes and just breathes.